Cause Our Love Ain't Easy
by landsliding
Summary: "A baby won't fix anything. That's our job." Future!Fic


**CAUSE OUR LOVE AIN'T EASY**

...

She threatens to file for a divorce on the thirteenth of December when he comes home without dinner four hours later than he's supposed to. "I forgot," he tells her. He knows she's tired of that excuse and he's kind of tired of it too so he just plops down on the couch and falls asleep to the sound of her humming in the kitchen as she cooks something or other for herself.

He kisses her senseless after a long day at the station on the fifteenth of December and she doesn't even go out of her way to make sure he'll sleep on the couch. Instead, "You coming to bed?" She sits down next to him as he's flicking through channels and he just shrugs because, whatever, the couch is his new bed, apparently. "Or we could just sleep here."

They wake up together on the sixteenth, her body draped over his as he feels her breath hot on his skin. "Rachel," he shakes her. "You fell asleep on me." She moans and nestles further into him so he sighs, but he looks at her for three seconds and she's smiling a little, so it kind of reminds him of the Rachel he fell in love with. They go back to sleep until noon and only wake up after Kurt's pounding on their apartment door. "I brought wine!"

He's got an extra shift on the eighteenth and by the time he comes home, he finds melted wax, a half-eaten cake and an empty kitchen. He shrugs, walks over to the fridge for a soda and stops in his tracks once he sees the note hanging from the bulletin board just beside it.

_I've gone out with Kurt. It's my birthday, just in case you forgot. _

He goes to sleep and doesn't wake up until it's almost the twentieth. "You might as well pack your bags," she's sighing at the foot of their bed, fiddling with some silver chain hanging from her neck.

"Where'd you get that?" He shoots up from the bed with sleepy eyes, running his fingers over the small chain hanging from his wife's neck. "You never wear silver."

"And you used to love me," she answers coldly. "Things change."

...

She's building a puzzle in the living room with Kurt on a Saturday morning in January when he walks in after picking up breakfast.

He walks over to where she's sitting, kisses the top of her hair, and hands her a coffee. "They were out of sugar."

"Thanks for nothing," she snaps. Something tells him she's not talking about the coffee.

"We should have sugar," he tells her, trying his best to ignore the fact she's practically glaring at him now. "Did you check the pantry?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"Are you going to love me ever again?" She lets out a small sniffle this time and he can't take it so he grabs his coat and his keys off of the counter and tells them both he'll see them 'whenever'.

...

He stays with Puck that night but his apartment is as crappy as ever and the heat's broken so he sleeps on the couch with a mountain of blankets and one of those cheap portable heaters Puck got from the guy down in 6E.

"It's temporary," he whispers while Puck's spreading a sleeping bag across his living room floor.

"Yeah," Puck scoffs. "Whatever."

"It is," he tells him. "It's not like we'll break up or anything crazy like that. She's just angry at me more than usual lately."

"And to think _I_ was the asshole," Puck lets out a snicker and tosses a blanket on top of the sleeping bag he's set down on the floor. "You kind of gave her a reason to be pissed at you, man. If I cheated on my wife, I'd let her take a swing or two at me or –"

"It was one time," Finn chimes in. "And it was my choice to leave. She's not even that mad."

"You forgot her birthday."

"I was working."

"When are you gonna stop making excuses?" Puck asks him and Finn's quiet, pulling the mound of blankets Puck's handed him up over his body. "You're lucky, dude. You know how many guys get to say they married their high school girlfriends?"

Finn's quiet.

"Not many," Puck tells him. "Call me a sap and I'll pull every single cover off of your body while you're sleeping and let you freeze, but I'd be kind of sad if you and Rach broke up."

"You would? Why would you –"

"Because," Puck interrupts. "You two are living proof that if you try hard enough to make something work, it actually works. Don't go fucking it up now because you can't keep it in your pants."

He sleeps for exactly three hours and four minutes on that thought but boosts up from his place on the couch at around four am and grabs his car keys off of Puck's countertop.

"Where you goin'?" A sleepy-eyed Puck lifts his head from the sleeping bag he's crashed on and Finn just dangles his keys from his hands and twists the doorknob. "Gotcha. Go get her."

…

He gets home by five and he tells himself he'll just crawl into bed next to her because she's probably been asleep for hours so the last thing he should do is explain himself or anything crazy like that.

"Hi Finn." It's a barely-there whisper, but she sits up against her pillow, pulling her covers over her body and giving out a little sniffle. If she's crying again, he knows he can't handle it right now, so his mind starts to venture to the thought of never leaving Puck's like he should've done an hour back. "Sit." She pats the mattress and it seems _so_ big – so big and so empty.

He slips his shoes off next to the bed and takes his jacket off, throwing that down too. "Hi Rach," he's so quiet that the loudest noise in the room is the small sound of the tears pouring out of her eyes. "Rachel, no… Rachel. Why are you crying?"

"I… I didn't know," she starts and he leans over her and to the night table, grabbing a tissue from the small box that sits next to the alarm clock. He hands it to her and she almost gives him a smile, something she hasn't done in weeks, it feels. "I didn't know when you'd come home."

"I'm here," he scoots closer to her and lets her rest her head in his lap, shifting her weight onto him as she lets out another sob. "Crying won't help you, baby. C'mon, just… just look at me."

"I could tell you the same," she says, almost harsh this time. "Finn, I wish you'd look at me the way you used to in high school."

"We're not in high school."

"You loved me more when we were in high school, didn't you?"

"You only fall more in love with someone, right?" He's right, he _has_ to be right. He remembers a conversation just like this on the night of their honeymoon. His mind flashes back to the New York City hotel, the hours spent lying across a bed much like their own, the endless conversations about anything and everything just because they could talk about anything and everything. "Is that not right?" He's so afraid of being wrong these days, but the wrong _always_ seems to find him.

He feels her shake her head, still resting in his lap, and he just lets out a sigh and rubs the top of her hair. Not that it'll help any because, well, it won't, but he just does it naturally now and she's not yelling at him to stop touching her or anything.

"You should just do it now if you'd like to get it over with," she says with almost no emotion. "I knew you'd break up with me someday."

"So you had no faith in this relationship?"

"I had the opposite of no faith, Finn," she snaps, sitting up from his lap now. "I'll always love you no matter what happens, that's pretty much a promise. But… maybe we need to learn to love someone else, too."

"So _you're _ending things with _me_?" He says slowly. He's surprised he can even speak now, but he manages to utter a few words,

She lets out a snicker and shakes her head, "You say it as if I'm not worthy enough to break up with you. I'm entitled to do that and more, Finn. We're –"

"We're _married_," he grabs her hands now and before she can pull back, she catches his glance for two seconds. It says to stay; to try and make things work. He doesn't know if she'll do all that, but she stays and she even does that thing where she rubs her thumb over the skin on his knuckles so that's either a start or a finish and that's a good thing, right? "I love you so much, Rachel, you know that."

She rolls her eyes, "I _don't_ know that. I don't know that anymore because you haven't done anything to show me you loved me in lord knows how long, Finn."

"That's not true," he fights back. "You're telling me having sex with someone isn't showing them you love them?"

"Not always!" She yells back, throwing the tissue she's holding in her hands to the bed and lifting her body up from it. "Finn," she speaks with desperation now and he can't not listen to her, "you're telling me you loved that hussy you stupidly had sex with the week I was out of town? Because I highly doubt that bullshit."

Rachel Berry _never_ spews swear words from her mouth. Ever. He figures this is one of those rare occasions so he could either sit back and take it like a man or run and never let her get the best of him. He loves Rachel Berry, swearing and all, so he sits back, narrows his eyes and takes her even when she's straining her vocal cords just to get through to him.

"I'm gonna go make myself some cereal and toast or something," she stalks toward the door, folding her arms beneath her chest and letting out a huff.

"It's five in the morning," he tells her. "How are you hungry?"

"I've just been hungry lately," she says shortly. "_Really_ hungry."

"Well, I'm going back to sleep. If… if you'll let me sleep here," he pushes his head further back into the pillow he's leaned up against and she just lets out a laugh.

"Of _course_ you can sleep there. It's your bed, too." She's smiling now and all he can think is how long it's been since she's actually smiled at him because she wanted to. "Sleep well."

"Love you," is all he responds.

She makes her way into the hallway but pops her head back in the doorway not five seconds later, "Love you too."

He goes to sleep confused. So, _so_ confused.

…

He wakes up at exactly noon next to a tray of toast, a cup of milk and an orange.

"I had extra time," Rachel's next to him and she even kisses his forehead and says good morning. Something doesn't feel right, and part of him tells him she's trying _way_ too hard. The other part just missed it so much he can't bother to care about her intentions. "How'd you sleep?"

"Uh… pretty horribly," he says, rubbing his still-tired eyelids and letting out a yawn.

"Yeah?" She does a little pout with her lips and rubs his thigh and he just thinks she's a really good actor because not seven hours ago, she nearly broke up with him or whatever. "I… I made you breakfast. You should eat; you're covering a shift down at the station, no?"

"I guess," is all he answers, grabbing a slice of buttered toast from the tray she's rested down on the mattress next to him. "Don't you have rehearsal?"

She shakes her head, "Vocal lessons at three. But they'll be here in the apartment and I've only got two students today."

"Cool." What else can he say? "But, uh, didn't you have dance rehearsal or something? You were planning on auditioning for that off-Broadway show for like, ever, so…" So maybe she's gotten him addicted to calendars and organization and all of that crap over the years, but it helps when he's got one hanging right off of the refrigerator, that's for sure. "I… I thought you had dance rehearsal," he says shortly when she arches her brow and just looks at him like he's just insulted her ten times over.

"I cancelled. I… I wasn't up to dance," is all she says.

"Oh…"

She claps her hands together and sits up, folding her hands in her lap. "Uh, when'll you be home?"

He narrows his eyes, then, "Should be home by eleven or so."

"Can we talk then?" She asks him easily, before grabbing a slice of the orange she cut for him and slipping it between her own lips.

"Uh, sure," he says. "But we could talk now."

"It can wait," she says, blinking. Kissing his forehead before removing herself from the bed, she lets out a small, "Love you."

"Yeah," he answers with a nod. "Love you too."

He loves her, sure, but it's not the same anymore. He can feel it and she can feel it too, he knows. All he wonders now is who'll be strong enough to admit it first.

…

"Hey," he lets off a nod as he looks over to Rachel, sitting in a huddle on the couch, the TV low with a blanket draped over her body. "How was your day?"

"Good," she says lowly, twiddling with her thumbs in her lap as she gives him a barely-there smile. "I made forty bucks on vocal lessons and then took a nap. Progressive, not so much, but it was pretty relaxing, so…"

"Good," he sits down next to her and she hands him his favorite soda – a vanilla Coca Cola – like it's no big deal. "Thanks, Rach." That's because it isn't a big deal; she knows his favorites by now and he shouldn't be shocked by it, even if he is.

"Can we talk now?"

He knew it would all lead up to this; the curling up on the couch with the TV low, the nervousness, his favorite soda. "Sure," he lets a small smile through and places his hand on her kneecap. "W'do'u wanna talk about?"

"You," she starts. "You and me."

"Oh… okay."

"A baby, too, maybe," she bites her lip now, shifting nervously on her place on the couch.

All he does is arch his brow, narrow his eyes and let his jaw quiver for a moment, because Rachel Berry did _not_ just bring up a baby or anything.

But she did, "Don't be upset with me."

"_Rachel_," is all he can manage to say.

"They're accurate, you know," she says lowly. "Pregnancy tests – they're accurate."

"I know," he's clenching his teeth now, but it's not like he's mad. A baby could fix them; a baby could fix _everything_. "Are you… are you sure?"

"Never been surer," she nods. "I was sure about two weeks before today but I didn't want to tell you because you've been so, _so_ angry with me lately and I've been angry with you too and I just wanted to make sure before I screwed things up for the both of us."

"No, Rachel… no," she's frowning and he's grinning but everything's right anyway. He's too excited to figure out what exactly he's gonna tell her so he lets the words pour out instead. "This could fix us, baby, it could. Just think about it, Rachel. If… if we really do have this baby, it could fix us."

"Elaborate," is all she says, narrow eyes.

"Babies are supposed to bring people together, right? Like… like in movies two people have a baby and suddenly everything's better again," he says with a smile. "Rachel, this baby could be a good thing, I'm telling you."

"Or not," she shrugs. "I'm not sure I could go through with something as huge as this unless I'm sure that you want to be with me."

"I do, Rachel," he says.

"You didn't want to be with me that week I was –"

"Don't go back to that," he tells her. "Just… just live in the now or whatever. We're gonna have a baby."

"_I'm_ gonna have a baby," she corrects him, sighing.

"It's my baby." And he's right. It totally _is_ his baby she's carrying; it's not like she can run away from him and declare it someone else's, even on the days she's the maddest at him or whatever. "It's _our_ baby."

"Finn," she breathes. "A baby won't fix anything. That's our job."

Thinking of fixing things between them as a job kind of sucks because a job, really? He's got one already and it isn't like having two'll be like icing on a cake or anything.

"But you want this?" He asks her and she just looks lost – broken, even. "The baby, I mean. Are you ready for a baby?"

"I'm twenty-six," she answers. "Of _course_ I'm ready for a baby. I'm not so sure _you're_ ready for a baby, though."

"Bring it, munchkin," he tickles her side and she starts laughing so he laughs too and for once they seem like they're on the road to being normal again.

She falls asleep on the couch fifteen minutes later, only a small throw blanket covering her, and he can't move because she's laid out in front of him, pressed up against his abdomen.

It's midnight and the last thing he can do is sleep so he runs his hand over her still flat stomach and just rests it there for a second. It's not like he can feel anything of course, but that's still _his_ baby in there and that's just _so_ cool so he's not sure he'll be able to sleep at all.

…

Rachel's three and a half months pregnant when they're eating lunch at a café downtown with Kurt before Finn's got another long shift down at the fire station.

"I see a little bump," Finn says, looking down at the stomach Rachel's covering with fidgety hands, red cheeks and an embarrassed snort.

She shakes her head, "That's just lunch."

"Not for long," Finn's smiling into his soda glass.

"If the baby's anything like Finn, you'll be lucky if your pretty little figure stays like that for another two weeks or so," Kurt adds and endures a nudge on the arm from Rachel.

Of _course_ the baby's like Finn. He hopes the baby'll be just like him because, well, it's _his_ baby – his and Rachel's baby.

She shakes her head with a small laugh, "I'm just upset about the whole boob thing." She's whispering and Kurt's losing himself in a fit of laughter. "What? I'd rather not feel as if I'm carrying around two full water balloons all the time."

Finn's quiet because, well, there's really no reason to complain.

Kurt just picks at his muffin, lets out a small snicker, then, "You'll have Finn to model 'em for. He'll _really_ appreciate it."

She rolls her eyes, grabs her purse and struts over to the counter in the café, claiming she's out of sugar packets for her coffee.

"There's sugar packets right here…" Finn says, but not before she's already at the counter digging through stacks and stacks of sugar packets with a determined grin plastered across her face. "Thanks a lot, bro," he's turned to Kurt now with rage in his eyes. "Make me look like an asshole in front of the woman who's carrying my child."

"Oh, no need to thank me," Kurt tells him. "You made yourself look like an asshole on your own."

Maybe he's not ready to be a father after all. Whatever. He just sips his soda and fiddles with the wrapper on his sandwich for an hour while Kurt and Rachel fawn over clothes in a baby catalogue Kurt's brought for her.

She doesn't even bother showing Finn one picture.

Maybe he'd like to see baby overalls, too, but Rachel's not thinking about that. He's pretty sure she's not thinking about him at all.

"I've got work," he stands up from the table, pats Rachel's upper arm and heads for the door.

She's still flipping through the catalogue, "See you at home."

Not even a simple 'love you' comes from her mouth. Those have been less and less frequent lately but he can't even bother to think about why because he's putting out a house fire in Manhattan and the chief's patting his shoulder and praising him on how well he held the team together. "You've really got this, man," he tells Finn as he's lifting the mask off of his head. "I spy a future chief in the making."

Soon, the whole crew's clapping for him and nudging him and fawning over him just like the way he saw Kurt and Rachel fawning over that stupid baby catalogue earlier.

Maybe a team of firefighters is the only thing he's destined to take charge of.

…

They've got a doctor's appointment at two in the afternoon but Rachel's hovered over the counter toasting bread and yelling about Finn taking all of the jam when she tells him he'd probably want to skip it anyway because work's just _that_ more important.

"More important than seeing our kid? I don't think so, Rachel," he yells over her incessant whines and cries. If being moody is a symptom of pregnancy, he'd like to declare Rachel a pro. "I'll call in sick to work or something. I… I just wanna see him."

"What makes you so sure it's a 'him', Finn?" She snaps. "Is that your way of slipping a sexist comment into there or something? I… I can't believe you'd stand here and try to make a sexist comment to me when I'm carrying your –"

"Rachel," he breathes, closing his eyes tightly for a moment as he walks over to where she's standing, pulls the butter knife from her hand and rests it down on the counter. "Don't get all worked up over stupid shit like that. I… I was just saying 'him' because –"

"Because a boy is the only thing you could imagine having," Rachel says with a hiss. "And did you swear, Finn? _Really_? You do know he or she can hear every single word we're saying, right? A womb is no restriction from reality or anything."

"He's barely got a body yet," Finn tells her and she slaps him in the arm before he can finish. "I'm pretty sure he – _or she_ – won't be too upset with me saying the word 'shit'."

Rachel rolls her eyes and struts over to the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen, scooping up a tiny jar in her hands and holding it out to him. "Put it in the swear jar," she snaps. "Two dollars in the swear jar for two curse words."

"You're insane," he's not sure whether to laugh or cry or whatever, because she makes him feel like, two hundred emotions all at once and he's not so sure he can last five more months like this.

"I'm… I'm sorry," she's sobbing now but he knows this is just normal behavior as of late so he toasts her bread for her and starts to uncover what's left of the jam. He's uncapping the raspberry flavored jam for her, but not before she walks over to him, throws her head into his chest and just cries. "Finn, please don't be angry with me. I… I just want this to be perfect."

"The baby _will_ be perfect," he tells her. "You're eating right and stuff, and… and your walks to the deli and back in the morning count as exercise so you're doing your share of walking and… and you're _perfect_, Rach."

"Aw," she looks up to him now and he allows himself to use his index finger to wipe the small drops of tears around her eyelid. "Thank you. I love you."

They wind up taking a small afternoon nap on the couch instead, and when they both wake up she's not even mad about the burnt toast smell all over the apartment or anything. "Here's your jacket," she tosses it all the way from the coat rack by the door with sleepy eyes and a small grin. "C'mon."

"I'm kind of excited," he tells her as he grabs the car keys with one hand and her tiny hand with the other.

"Me too," she nods. She's looking up at him with a smile now, so he smiles back and squeezes her hand a little harder as they make it down the small staircase leading down from their apartment. "Finn?"

He arches his brow, "Hm?"

"I won't cry if it's a boy or anything."

He won't either. He _might_ just cry when he sees the sonogram, maybe.

…

They sprawl three yellow paint cans, four brushes and a whole bunch of towels across the floor in the spare room on a day they're both off – Finn's being covered for down at the station and Rachel's cancelled vocal lessons because she's pretty sore and singing while not one hundred percent well is something she just can't do.

Finn used to use the spare room as a sort of office, although Rachel complained it had just become a place to put his unnecessary pool table in. It didn't take much begging to let her make it into a nursery. She asked him one day over dinner and he just sort of agreed because it seemed like the natural thing to do. He even kissed her head and told her he'd help her pick out a paint color because he _totally_ read that baby catalogue she left sitting on top of the counter a few nights back. She just squealed and said that it had better be something neutral because it's his fault they decided to keep the sex of the baby a surprise.

"Don't you think it's a little… girly?" He steps back and looks over the wall he's ran a brush over three times and lets out a little chuckle.

Rachel just rolls her eyes and squats to the floor, dropping her tiny brush into the paint can beside her, "Nope." She's in one of those jumper dresses with an elephant on the front and he can't help but look down at her belly like, every five seconds because she's _finally_ starting to show. It's a little bulge, sure, but it's kind of cute and he can't help but want to drop the paint brush he's holding down and walk over to her and just run his fingers over it a few times.

"Do you think this jumper makes me look fat?" She's focused on painting small streaks onto the wall with her paintbrush one minute and the next she's running her hands over her swollen belly, sighing.

He shakes his head and can't help but laugh, "You're pregnant, baby, of course you're –"

She's glaring at him with a mountain of fire in her eyes now.

"You're pretty," he answers quickly. "No matter how fat – _pregnant_ – you get, you'll still be cute."

"You think so?" She says with hopeful eyes, dropping the brush she's holding down into the can of paint as she walks over to him.

"I think pregnant is like, a _really_ good color on you."

"Just like the yellow in this room," she says with a giggle, her tongue between her teeth as she runs her fingers over his chest. "It's a really good color."

"Sure, but… I like pregnant better," he says.

She stands on her tiptoes, lunges herself forward and to his cheek, planting a soft kiss just under his cheekbone. "I do, too."

Pregnancy makes Rachel mellow for a little while.

He decides he's gonna have to soak it in and enjoy it while it lasts.

…

They've talked more than not lately, but they haven't _really_ talked. They haven't talked about what went wrong and why it went wrong and everything in between and frankly, he likes it better that way. They're having a baby so everything's supposed to be the way it is – good. But then he remembers who he's married to, and Rachel Berry won't settle for anything less than perfect.

She yells at him when she's folding laundry on a Saturday morning because he just _hates_ to talk about it even though he _needs_ to talk about it. "Why'd you do it?"

It's the dreaded question, really, so he grabs a water bottle, fiddles with the top and sits down at the armchair next to their bed. "Stupidity, I think."

"You _think_?" She slams a fist to the mattress, turning to him now as she swats a pile of clothes to the floor and makes room for herself on the bed. "Did… did you cheat on me because you fell out of love with me?" She brings her hand to her stomach and just lets out a sigh.

"I never fell out of love with you, Rachel," he starts. "I… I was stupid and lonely and you weren't here, so my first instinct was… well… nothing. I wasn't _thinking_."

"But you still did it," she snaps.

"I did," he says. "And I wish I could take it back, Rachel, but I can't. It happened and it's over with and it won't happen again, I know it won't. I just… I don't understand why we have to keep revisiting it over and over again."

She just closes her eyes and clenches her teeth together, letting out an elongated breath after a moment of pure silence.

"You alright?" He starts to lift his body from the armchair and makes his way to the bed, his hand on her kneecap.

She nods, "The baby hates it when we fight."

He just arches his brow because he's still on that theory that the baby can't really understand much of what's going on outside of Rachel anyway.

"Feel," she grabs his hand with hers and places it on her swollen abdomen, leaving it there for a minute. "You see?"

He pulls his hand away because there's a sort of surge and it takes him a moment to realize that's actually like, his kid inside of there. "Wow," is all he can manage to slip out.

"She likes it when I sing to her, though," Rachel tells him with a nod.

He wants to ask Rachel to sing a song to the baby or something because when she sings, she's totally mellow and calm and it's actually really nice. But then he realizes he calls their baby a 'she' when she agreed to hold out on finding out the gender and he's just sort of confused. "So it's a 'she' now?"

She lets out a laugh, "I'm not gonna stand here and call our baby an 'it'. And maybe it's just me, but sometimes she _feels_ like a she. Sometimes she doesn't."

"What do you want it to be?" It's nice when they're just talking like this, he thinks.

"Healthy," is all Rachel answers. "Ours."

He kisses her neck and she pulls herself up off of the bed and drapes her arm around his neck, giving him small kisses on his jaw line.

"What was that for?" He asks her once she lets go of him and turns back to the laundry like she didn't just plant a million little kisses all over him.

"I just love you," she shrugs, her focus still on two little hand towels she's folding.

He kisses her shoulder before turning out of the room, "I'm sorry for last year."

"It's alright," she tells him. "Here's to plenty more." And she turns around this time, dropping the hand towels she's holding and grabbing his cheeks with both of her hands and pecking him hard on the lips. "Can we call it a she?"

"Sure," he breathes. "I mean, we can put that baby name book to good use and start –"

"Thank you!" She interrupts, planting another round of small kisses to his jaw. "I've got names of Broadway legends from A to Z lined up in my memory. Evita's a name I've been considering since day one."

So he won't let her name their kid Evita, even if she thinks she'll get away with it. But he will let her sit on his lap in the kitchen while she eats leftover steak Puck brought over the other night (she's _totally _ditched the Vegan thing) and directs him which names to highlight with an orange marker she grabs from the middle of the table.

They've circled almost half of the book and she falls asleep in his lap before they get to the 'S' names, so he carries her to the couch, drapes a small blanket over her and whispers that they're never naming their kid Evita.

She moans, tossing her body over so she's facing him. "You're gonna be such a good daddy to Evita, Finn."

Damn.

…

They're over Puck's for dinner one night and he starts to ask Rachel how it feels to waddle around with a boulder under her shirt.

"Noah, how dare you?" She yells, her arms folded underneath her swollen breasts. "This _boulder_ is the child that'll hopefully be out of here in just three more months. Once you meet Evita you'll regret once calling her a boulder."

Finn laughs into his water glass and reaches under the table, stroking Rachel's stomach with his hand.

"So you're still on this Evita crap?" Puck asks with a snicker. "Give up, crazy. Finn'll _never_ let you get away with naming the little melon Evita."

"So my baby is a _melon_ now?" Rachel asks with a pout. "Finn, say something." She snaps, nudging Finn in the shoulder, which causes him to spill the water out of his glass and onto Puck's table.

"For fuck's sake," Puck hisses. "I _just _bought that tablecloth. Way to ruin my shit, Hudson."

"I've got it," Rachel stands up from her chair, resting the palm of her hand on the arm of Finn's chair as she boosts herself up.

"Don't knock anything down, Humpty Dumpty," Puck snaps, but not before Rachel hits into a tray of mashed potatoes, letting the food fall all over the front of her shirt. "Shit. What'd I tell you? Just… just c'mere."

Finn stands up and Puck nods and tells him to sit down because he's got it. He takes Rachel by the hand and into his room, and even though Finn's suspicious as hell, he sits down because he _totally_ trusts Rachel, he does. Puck, not so much, but Rachel he trusts like, completely. Finn disregards the few stupid flings Puck and Rachel have had in high school when he and Rachel were broken up and calls them just that – flings. Rachel's never spoken about loving Puck or wanting to be with Puck or having a baby with Puck so he's completely safe, he knows that.

But then his mind flashes back to last year when Rachel was out of town and he thinks about her safety. She was _always_ supposed to be safe with Finn; he'd be a faithful husband and she'd been promised that since the day he proposed to her for real. But he was a little wasted and a little vulnerable and a little lonely, too, so a leggy blonde with no curfew and no man to worry about back at home made him not so safe for Rachel anymore; he'd cheated on her and as much as he might've enjoyed the kisses and the sex and just waking up next to someone who he had no responsibility for, he regretted it the moment he walked out of the hotel room.

His mind flashes back to picking up Rachel at the airport the day she returned. He was guilty, sure; so, so guilty. But he was cocky too, which made him believe he didn't want to be with her anymore. He remembers telling her about his cheating on the way home from the airport. She was ready to tell him stories of her trip and of her singing and of stuff she _knew_ he'd be happy to hear about. He told her about the leggy blonde in that stupid hotel room and had to deal with a raging, sobbing Rachel the entire ride home.

He thinks about it now; he thinks about himself being with someone else and how heartbroken Rachel must've been. He thinks about Rachel being with someone else too, but not for long because it kind of stings in his chest and then he starts to get all tense and protective and everything else too, even if he's like, one hundred and one percent sure she'd never do to him what he did to her.

_Shit_.

"Hey Finn," she comes out three minutes later with Puck's hand still in hers, one of his old baseball t-shirts on and a smile bigger than the smile she shone on her wedding day. "Noah felt the baby kick." She sounds almost proud and Finn kind of just wants to stand up and knock Puck in the side of the face or something because really, he's all hands-y with his wife and it's _totally_ not cool.

"That's some freaky shit, dude," Puck laughs, running his hand over Rachel's protruding stomach once more. "Could've sworn I was touchin' an alien or some shit."

"Yeah," is all Finn answers, almost lifelessly.

"What's the matter?" Rachel walks over to him now, running her tiny hands through his hair as he lets out a breathy sigh. "If you wanted to leave, you could've –"

"Yeah," Finn stands up now, grabbing Rachel's hand in his. "I've got an early shift down at the station tomorrow."

Rachel nods understandingly, squeezing his hand as she pulls him over to the couch her coat's tossed over. "Hi," she turns to him like she hasn't been sitting next to him all night long. "Are you angry with me?"

"What?" He just laughs because, whatever, he's _totally_ not angry with her. (Even if Puck's been fawning over her stomach and the baby and everything else for the past ten minutes.) "How could I ever be angry with you?" He knows what she's about to say, he does, but he puts his index finger to her lips and shushes her. "We'll talk on the way home."

"Okay," she doesn't even fight him, just nods and runs her fingers over his knuckles.

She kisses Puck goodnight and he touches her stomach again, this time saying, "See you kiddo," like he's talking to their baby or something.

Finn only looks on with a glare, gripping Rachel's hand tighter than he's already holding it. "Thanks for dinner," is all he says. He's not even thankful he came here. Whatever.

…

"Stop the car," Rachel says once they're close to the apartment. "Please, stop the car."

"What… what's the matter?" He stops the car, pulling it up to the sidewalk. "Are you… are you getting sick?"

She breathes, "God, Finn, just stop the car."

"I did," he tells her, unbuckling her belt and then his and opening both of the locks on the doors. "C'mere."

"No," she snaps. "_You_ come _here_." She starts to grip her mouth with her palm, tilting her head down to the sidewalk. She's _totally_ getting sick even though she claims to be like, immune to sickness or whatever.

He runs over to her, gripping her shoulders with his hands, the only sound the sound of her heavy breaths. "Sh, you'll be fine, baby."

"I won't," she says, an exaggerated sigh, running her hands over her stomach for a moment. "This is killing me."

"It's just the baby," he tells her, tilting her chin up with his hands as she shakes her head and refuses to look up at him. "It _is_ just the baby, right…? I mean, throwing up is natural in a pregnancy. It… it means the baby's healthy; that's what you told me."

"No," she says. "It's not the baby. It's… it's something else that's killing me, Finn."

He just stops for a moment, pulling his hands off of her shoulders as he looks down to her, confusion running over him. "Wait… what?"

"You know how guilty I made you feel for cheating on me, right? I never let you live it down, Finn, and I… I was such a witch about it. I never let you forget it, even when we both wanted to," she starts, biting her lip and letting her gaze fall to the sidewalk. "I should've told you, but… Finn, I'm not innocent either."

"Are you… are you just saying this to mess with me or…?" He arches his brow and his chest gets tight and he doesn't think he's capable of saying much else because, well, he doesn't expect something like this out of Rachel. He's not so sure he wants to hear what she has to say, but he closes his eyes for a minute, lets out a sigh and tells himself he'll take it like a man because nothing could be worse than what he did last year.

"I had some stupid online relationship with a man from Chicago a few weeks after I found out you cheated on me," she speaks in between a gasping cry. "I… I did it out of anger, really. My intention wasn't to hurt you; not the way you hurt me at least."

"You think _my_ intention was to hurt _you_?" He says, clasping his hands into two fists as he slides them into the pockets of his jeans. "Rachel, I told you why I did what I did and… well it sounds like you tried to hurt me a lot more than I tried to hurt you. You had an online relationship with some asshole because I cheated on you one time? Rachel, I –"

"I figured it'd make us even," is all she says in a hushed whisper, batting her eyelids to wipe away the tears that stream down her cheeks. "I didn't mean for it to ruin our marriage or anything."

"I just didn't think you were capable of doing something like this," he snaps. "I mean, yeah, you cheated on me once in high school but we were stupid in high school. We… we weren't like, _married_."

"Are you mad?"

He just shakes his head, "No… yes… I don't know."

She leans closer to him, letting out a sigh before grabbing his forearm with her hand and holding him where he stands.

"Maybe this is a good time to take a few days away from each other or something," he tells her.

"That's irrational!" She snaps, still tugging at his arm as he tries to walk over to his car. "In case you forgot, I'm carrying your child now, so…"

"'So' nothing, Rach," he says. "You obviously wanted me to know about your stupid online affair tonight of all nights for like, whatever reason, so just… just go upstairs."

"Where are _you_ going?"

"For a drive," is all he tells her.

He gets behind the wheel and ignores her stomping and the tears she cries as she stands outside of his car with her arms folded beneath her breasts and tells him to come outside.

He rolls up his window and doesn't even look back at her once when he drives away. The sad part, he thinks, is that he doesn't feel a pinch of guilt in that moment.

But he just shrugs it off because she didn't even feel guilty for telling him about her stupid ass online love affair, whatever. Why should he feel guilty when she doesn't feel any guilt at all?

…

He drives down to the station and only one light is on. It's the chief's office and it's two in the morning so Finn isn't really all that surprised.

"Hudson," he speaks loudly before Finn can even walk past his office and into his own. "What brings you over here so late? You don't have a shift 'till the morning, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Finn speaks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he takes a breath, walking closer to the chief's desk.

"Well, c'mere. Don't be afraid; I don't bite or nothin'," he tells him, waving his arm and signaling for Finn to sit down. "You wanted to talk or somethin'?"

"Actually, I was just gonna try and get some rest in my office, but…"

"In your _office_?" He asks Finn, eyebrow arched. "What in hell does the office have that your home doesn't? Playboy calendar? Son, I know we've all got one and it's our wives' job to make sure that crap doesn't get within ten feet of the house. I've been there, trust me."

"No, sir," Finn says with a chuckle. "Rachel and I just got into a fight and I'm not sure how it's gonna all work out, but… I figured I'd just sleep here for the night so we didn't have to be together in the apartment."

"Rachel," he starts, rubbing his hands over the stubble on his chin. "The same Rachel that's having Finn Hudson's baby I presume?"

"That Rachel," Finn says with a nod, reaching into his pocket. "I've… I've actually got the sonograms with me. I mean, I'm not so sure what any of them mean besides that it's a picture of my baby, but we're keeping the gender a surprise until the day she gives birth because, well, we think it's kind of special that way."

The chief just nods, taking the pictures out of Finn's hand and into his own. "As long as you don't have a little boy walkin' around in pink booties… then you're good."

"I think having a boy would be pretty cool," Finn tells him. "I mean, I can tell Rachel wants a girl, even if all she says is that she wants a healthy baby when I ask her, but…" He stops himself because he starts to talk about her with that grin on his face; that proud, proud grin. But then he remembers their fight and her online affair and the leggy blonde in the hotel room that one night and he clears his throat, letting his expression fall.

"Well, you shouldn't be too disappointed when that baby pops out," he hands Finn back the sonogram, tapping his forearm with his hands as he flashes him a small smile. "And I'm all for letting you crash in the office and whatnot, but I really think you ought to get home to that wife of yours. She needs you, even if she says she doesn't."

"Yeah," Finn agrees. "Yeah, she does."

…

He gets to their apartment door at three in the morning and tells himself he'll walk in slowly because Rachel's most likely and he can't indulge another one of her ever-so-famous outbursts.

But she's on the couch humming some song he's heard her play a few times before on their weekend drives up to Kurt's house and he can't help but smile as he stands in the doorway.

"Hi," she stops, throwing her body far back into the couch cushion, folding her leg over the other as she brushes her bangs from her face. "I didn't think you'd be back this soon."

"Me either," he tells her. "But I talked to the chief down at my station and he told me I should get home to you and I realized that yeah, I totally should, so… here I am."

"Oh," she says slowly. "I'm… I'm glad you're back." It sounds like more of a question than a statement and he just shrugs and walks to where she's sitting because _he's_ glad to be back, even if she's only pretending to be glad to see him.

"Were you… were you singing before? Y'know, to the baby…" He murmurs, placing his hands in a fold and into his lap as he sits on the end of their couch.

"You heard that?"

He smiles, "Yeah, I did. It sounded pretty, whatever it was."

"_Don't Cry for Me Argentina_," she tells him. "It's from Evita." He's not really sure what exactly Evita is, but then he remembers it's what she _totally_ planned on naming their kid, so he does a little chuckle and just leans over and kisses her ear.

"What was that for?" She giggles, fiddling with loose strands of her hair just below her shoulders.

He breathes, "I… I just really love you."

"I love you too," she says. This time, it actually sounds like she means it.

She leans on his shoulder, does a little sigh and then starts humming something again. "I've got a whole repertoire filled of things I could sing for him," she says.

"So the baby's a 'him' today?" He asks.

She just nods and sings Barbra Streisand's _My Man_ until she finally lets out a tired yawn.

If it's possible to fall in love with someone all over again, Finn thinks he just did it.

…

"Finn," she shakes him at around two in the morning and all he does is mumble and nestle his head further into the pillow he's leaning into. "Finn, wake _up_!"

"What is it? Is it the baby?" He lets out an exaggerated yawn, pushing his head further and further into his pillow as he turns over to face Rachel, who's sitting up now.

"Banana bread," she mumbles.

Is she insane? It's two am and he's _exhausted_. "I'll… I'll make you banana bread in the morning, promise."

"Please," she begs, tugging on his forearm. "I won't bother you about food for another week. I'm _starving_."

So it's two am and he's out of bed, Rachel's hand in his as she's dragging him to the kitchen. He trips over a rattle she insisted on buying even though the baby won't be able to use the rattle until like, a _really_ long time from now.

"Baby, watch where you're going," she giggles. "You'll break the baby's rattle."

Yeah, he's _totally_ okay. He just stepped on a rattle. "Are you really serious about baking banana bread or is this baby making you think you'd like to bake banana bread? Our bed's never looked comfier than it does right now, babe."

"I wasn't joking," Rachel tells him, opening up the pantry and standing on her tiptoes, grabbing an unopened box from the top shelf. "I was hungry. And I wanted to talk. Remember those times when we used to wake up in the middle of the night, cook food and just sit around and talk until it was done? I… I miss that."

"Me too," he tells her, rubbing his eyelids sleepily while letting out a yawn.

"Why'd we stop?"

He doesn't even know. All he knows is how exhausted he is and how comfy his bed looks and how much he wants to sleep in it and how his very pregnant wife is craving banana bread he's _really_ not capable at making at this hour. "Let's not worry about that," he tells her. "Let's just… let's not stop it this time, okay?"

"Right, okay," she says, scattering around the kitchen to find every ingredient for her banana bread as he sits down at the table, watching her with tired eyes. "Can we forget about last year? I… I should've asked that a long time ago but I've been thinking about it more than ever lately and I think it's an appropriate time to forget about it, right?"

"Totally," he agrees. "I mean, I feel guilty as shit and I think you do too because you even deactivated your Facebook which is like, really weird but makes sense and stuff. I mean, that's where you met that man from Chicago last year, I'm guessing, right?"

"We're dropping it," she says with a giggle, pulling a spoon out from the utensil drawer and throwing it down on the countertop next to a big bowl she pulled out from the cabinets. "And we're going to drop everything else too. What blonde lady?"

"That's my girl," Finn walks over to the counter where she's standing, taking the box from the countertop and ripping it open with his very tired fingers. "But, I do want you to know how sorry –"

"Save it," she interrupts.

"No," he places his hand to her chin and strokes his fingers over the skin for a minute. "I'm sorry for being such an asshole about everything, Rachel. You're more than good enough for me and I never should've taken you for granted."

"And to think you were tired two minutes ago," Rachel laughs.

"I understand where you came from with the whole online dating bullshit, even if I was totally pissed over it. I cheated on you first, Rachel, and no one deserves to be cheated on."

"He was more of a friend I talked things over with, but…"

"That doesn't matter now," he tells her. "We're having a baby together, Rachel; me and you. And the fact that we lasted from high school to now is like, ridiculously awesome. Even Puck thinks so, I swear. I say we deserve a reward."

"This baby is enough of a reward," she says with a laugh, grabbing his hand with hers and placing their intertwined fingers on her stomach. "I just want us to be the best parents because I know we can do it, Finn. I've never been more excited for anything, really."

"I know," he says, placing his lips to hers with a peck before looking down at her with tired eyes. "I love you. And I love little Evita or whatever, too." He strokes the top of her stomach with his hand and she just laughs.

"I don't want our baby to be an Evita anymore," she tells him. "I won't even mind if it isn't a girl."

"Yeah," he says. "Me either."

They don't go to sleep that night. They just bake banana bread and it takes three tries because each time Finn reads the ingredients out to her differently and completely and totally wrong. She just laughs, sprinkles a little bit of flour onto his nose and sits on the countertop as they wait for it to cook.

"The third time is a charm," he tells her when he looks to the oven timer and sees they've got over five minutes left before it's cooked and ready.

"That could apply to marriage, too," Rachel says, fiddling with the ring that sits on her finger. "This _is_ the third time we've tried to get it all right. There was high school, then college, then this…"

He kisses her on the lips and she laughs at him and tells him he's got a bunch of flour on his nose.

"I can't wait until we can do this with the baby someday," she sighs, looking over to the oven timer. "I want our baby to be a cook."

"You want our baby to be the president," he laughs.

She wants their baby to be anything and everything under the sun because he believes in raising their kid to his or her fullest potential. He's gotten that speech about ten times since Rachel found out she was pregnant so he's pretty much got it memorized. He just wants the baby to come like, now. It's like the missing puzzle piece they need to _finally_ get this thing right, he knows it. He's not sure how to make it come quicker or anything, but he waits until Rachel crashes on the couch after a night of baking at around seven in the morning and looks it up on every search engine. 'Hang in there' is the first thing he sees. He sighs and walks over to the couch, sitting on the end as he whispers, "Don't hang in there," close to Rachel's stomach.

"I can hear you, you know," she says with a laugh, burying her face in her pillow. "I'm with you on that one, though. The kid kicks me so much I wouldn't be shocked if they become a can-can dancer on Broadway."

"Hang in there," he tells her.

God, he _really_ needs to take his own advice.

…

It takes six and a half hours and Finn's hand is almost broken, he's sure of it, but they finally meet their baby and he starts to cry and not even Puck calls him a pansy as he stands in the waiting room of the hospital with a couple of other people, too.

Kurt pats his back and tells him, "With a set of vocals like Rachel's, I'm surprised the kid only cried that much. Be prepared for lots of sleepless nights, my brother."

His mom and Burt both kiss him on the cheek, telling him so many words at once he can't even grasp a single one. "We love you," is the only thing he really hears.

"I told you," Puck says as he pats his best friend on the shoulder. "It only gets easier from here. The getting there is the hardest part and, well, you totally got through that, so…"

"Thanks, man," Finn's still got a tear in his eye and he's really too tired to wipe it. (That and the fact that he's pretty confident his hand's going to fall off sooner or later because Rachel managed to squeeze the life out of it back in that hospital room.) "She actually did it. Rachel _actually_ had a baby."

"It was only a matter of time, really," Puck says with a chuckle. "I wouldn't be shocked if she wanted like, six more. You guys could have your own little _Sound of Music_."

"Is someone _really_ making _Sound of Music_ references?" Kurt turns to face Finn and Puck with an amused look painted across his face. "Don't tell me you're naming the kid after _me_. I mean, Kurt was only the greatest one of the kids in that musical, I'm telling you."

"Sorry, but I'm leaving the naming up to Rachel," Finn says with a laugh. "I mean, if she's all for naming it Kurt, then…"

"You should name him something special," Puck chimes in. "And don't let her name the kid Evita."

"But he's a boy…" Finn looks on, confused.

Puck laughs, "And you're married to Rachel Berry. I think you forgot that for a minute."

He just laughs because yeah, his wife probably _would_ name their kid Evita, but he'll never let himself forget he's married to Rachel Berry again, that's for sure.

…

"Hey," he walks back into the hospital room once the baby's all clean and Rachel appears a little less exasperated. "Hi little buddy," he's looking to the baby Rachel's got in her arms now, a smile plastered across his face.

"We were waiting for you," Rachel says, looking up from the baby for only a second, his hand still gripping her index finger tightly. "I've been thinking of baby names from A to Z in my head while you were gone and I've got nothing. I feel pathetic."

"Baby, you just had a baby," he's standing closer to her now, his hand on her kneecap. "You're anything but pathetic."

"I'd feel a little less pathetic if I could come up with a name for our son," she laughs, stroking the baby's soft skin with her finger gently. "I thought once I saw him I'd know but… I don't. I've tried every name in the Broadway book and I've got nothing." She sighs and all Finn can do is laugh.

"He looks like a Christopher," he says almost naturally.

"Like your dad?"

"Yeah," he tells her. "Just like my dad."

"Hi Christopher," she waits not a second before she's cooing at the baby, taking her little hands over his even littler hands and fiddling with his tiny fingers. "Hi baby. That's your daddy over there. He's probably going to take better care of you than your mommy will because well, he's a lot stronger and a lot bigger and he knows how to play baseball and even the drums."

Finn just laughs, "That's adorable. It's like he knows you already."

"He only lived inside of me for nine months," she's kissing his little fingers as she pulls away, looking to Finn. "He knows you, too. Do you want to hold him?"

He's afraid, even if he'll never admit that to Rachel. He's never held a baby before; not one that mattered as much as Christopher matters, anyway. "I… I don't want to hurt him," is his excuse.

"You won't hurt him," Rachel says, holding out her arms and handing the baby over to Finn. "You're his dad, Finn. He'll be just as good with you as he was with me, I promise."

"Hi Christopher," Finn starts once he's got the tiny baby in his arms, his voice a little shaky. "Hi there buddy." Christopher starts to fidget and he's quick to want to hand the baby back to Rachel. "I think you want your mommy again, don't you?"

"No," Rachel shakes her head. "Hold him for a little while longer. I'm _exhausted_."

She leans her head back into her pillow and Finn holds onto the baby tighter like she told him to because, well, he totally gets it. She just pushed him out of her and the last thing she wants to do is sit up and hold him because she's exhausted as hell, Finn can see that. "Hey," he grabs Christopher's little hands with his finger as he looks up to Rachel, who's shutting her eyelids and leaning back into her pillow even further. "I love you."

"Mm," she mumbles. "I love you too."

"I'm so proud of you," he tells her.

"I'm proud of me too," Rachel says. "I don't think anything'll ever hurt as much as that did."

He just laughs and arches his brow, rocking the baby gently in his arms.

"But it was worth it," she adds as he looks onto Christopher, still fiddling with his tiny fingers. He looks up to Finn now with wide eyes, like he knows exactly who he is. Finn knows he probably doesn't because, well, he's only been alive for less than two hours, but he still feels this connection with the baby and he's pretty sure he's never loved something as quickly as he already loves his son.

Rachel looks over to them once more before shutting her eyelids, "He already loves you."

Yup – _so_ worth it.

...

She threatens to take back the drum set he's bought for their son on the thirteenth of July because a one-year-old _cannot_ be a drummer. He bangs the sticks against everything – the furniture, the floor and Rachel's hands as she tries to pull them away. "I'm serious!" She shouts to Finn in the middle of grabbing the drumsticks from Chris' grip and lifting up from behind. "Your daddy has this crazy dream of you being a drummer," she tells him when she thinks Finn isn't listening. She gives up after trying to take his drumsticks away for a third time because he starts making beats on the couch cushions and it's actually really of cute so he tells Chris to stay where he is and runs to Finn to tell him to get out his camera. It takes three shots before Chris actually looks up at the camera, but once he does Rachel doesn't stop fawning over the picture. Finn doesn't think he'll ever get tired of this.

He kisses her senseless on the fifteenth after the family's gone and Chris' party is done and over with. When she asks him what he did that for all he says is, "I just love you. Thank you." He thanks her for _her_ and for Chris and for _everything_ – just everything.

They wake up on tangled together on the couch on the sixteenth. He's never been a fan of thunderstorms and he knows she isn't a big fan either, so he grabbed her and he grabbed Chris the night before and told her they'd all sleep together on the couch in the living room. He's got a cramp in his lower back and Rachel's complaining of a neck cramp but then he whispers to look next to them. She looks over at Chris, lulled by the sounds of the storm, and he's looking too. "Isn't this nice?" And it is. It's so, _so_ nice.

He's got an extra shift on the eighteenth and he comes home to an empty house, all the lights off and only the air conditioner on. He walks over to the fridge to grab a cold soda when he looks over at the bulletin board to find a note scribbled in Rachel's loopy handwriting hanging off of it.

_I took Chris grocery shopping with me. We're out of soda and I'm only saying this because I know you'll look there when you come home. We'll see you soon. We love you._

He thinks he's so tired he'll sleep until the twentieth, but Rachel and Chris walk in the door hand-in-hand not two hours later and over to the couch where he's resting.

"Hi," Rachel says, Chris in her arms as she bends over Finn and kisses his temple. "I was just gonna take a nap with Chris, but… we could all nap together."

It's a good idea – _such _a good idea. "Sure," he opens his arms and Rachel places Chris in them.

"Hold him for a minute," she says. "I'm gonna go get more blankets."

They fall asleep in a big fort on the floor in the living room – mountains of blankets and pillows surrounding them as they sleep with the air conditioner up high and each others' arms tangled with another.

"And to think we didn't want this," Finn reaches his arm out rubs her forehead when Chris is finally asleep, sandwiched in between the two of them.

"Things change," she replies.

He nods and just fiddles with the ring on Rachel's finger. It's like a reminder, and he likes looking at it sometimes. He knows it's always there and stuff, but looking at it makes him feel really good and it reminds him how much of his she is – all of her and more.

"I want ten more," she says after a moment of pure silence. Finn just arches his brow and tries not to laugh. "Fine… one or two."

"I'll take it," he tells her. "But none of 'em are ever gonna be named Evita."

She sighs, then, "…Deal."

And it _is_ a deal – it's _such_ a deal. They've made it pretty far, he knows, and he's ready to make it even further.

...


End file.
